You and Her and No One Else
by TheAntiqueRoman
Summary: "Tell me how we first met." Her voice was soft, hushed. As if she was afraid that she would break if she spoke any louder.  Fabranger angst.
1. Part I

"Tell me how we first met."

Her voice was soft, hushed. As if she was afraid that she would break if she spoke any louder.

You look down at those beautiful, lost eyes belonging to even more beautiful woman leaning into your side. How many times before have you spent in this position, just cuddling on the couch, oblivious to the rest of the world?

It was a much more common occurrence now.

"How we first met?"

Your voice matches her low tone. Because you feel the same way. You always have to fight the urge to break. You're holding on, just barely holding on, and the only thing keeping you together is these moments now, when it's just you and her and no one else to interfere, no eyes on you full of their pity.

"Yes… I want to know about the moment when I fell in love with you."

You smile in spite of yourself. It's not a real smile, you haven't had one of those in months, but it's _her_ and you can't help but divert back to your old self from several months ago, when it was just you and her and no one else. "Well, that's the wrong story, then. When we first met, you hated me."

She scoffs, and you feel your heart contract in your chest, and it literally hurts because that scoff is just so _her_ and you haven't seen the old her in so long. You can't recall how many times you've argued with her and she scoffed in that way whenever you just wouldn't let her win the argument, even though you knew she was right. Just because you had to get in the last word and you loved how gorgeous she looked when she got mad, when her eyes were bright and livid and there was just that certain something in the air that made you so attracted to her and now

And now there isn't enough in her to fight, and you'll let her win anything just because it's _her_ and you don't want to see her struggle to form a rebuttal, you don't want to break your heart any further.

"How could I have hated you?" Her voice sounds so small. "That doesn't seem possible."

"Well that's how it was. I hated you because you always showed up everyone in class and acting like you knew everything, which you probably do… did."

You pause, guilt-stricken by your correction. She remains quiet. You continue.

"You hated me because I was a Chaser with an ego too big to handle and I got all of the boys. But we had never actually spoken until Brittany set us up on a blind date one Hogsmeade weekend." As the memory fills you, it's hard not to smile at the horrible excuse for a first date. "I could have killed her; that date was a disaster. We spent a good twenty minutes out in the cold arguing about which place to go first, and eventually we ended up at the Three Broomsticks. You pulled out a book and read the entire time."

A faint, disbelieving smile appears on her face. "I ignored you the entire time?"

"Only when you weren't giving me death glares when you thought I wasn't looking. It's okay; I was doing the same."  
>"Then how'd we ever get a second date?"<p>

You smile a bit wider, a bit more real as the memory comes back to you.

"You remember Ron? Weasley? Yeah, he was trying to ask you to the Christmas ball. Apparently he was asking you 'as a last resort', and you were so mad at him for that, so just to make him mad and get him off your back, you told him that you were already going with me."  
>"But we hated each other. He would never believe that."<p>

"I think he was so shocked at the fact that you even had a date to begin with, that he didn't even register that it was _me_ you were talking about. Ginny said that she would pay a thousand Galleons just for a picture of his face then.

"You ended up bribing me into going with you. I had just broken up with Sam, my ex, and wasn't planning on going, but you promised to help me with my Potions work that I was complaining about."

Her brow furrows. "Wait… Why would you need help with Potions? You make them all the time."

You lower your head on the top of hers, smelling faint traces of her shampoo; lavender. You also smell a bit of parchment; she must have been in the library earlier. You haven't been able to go in the library in a long while, not when it smells so much like parchment and like her. Because whenever you smell that smell you're brought back to all those memories of doing homework on the library, alone, with her, working on re-doing assignments you purposely failed just so she would help you, just so you could be alone with her, and it was just you and her and no one else.

"I'll tell you a secret…" You whisper close to her ear; feeling the goosebumps rise on her bare arm. "I lied."

"You _lied_?"

"Can you blame me? The prettiest girl at Hogwarts marches up to me right after Transfiguration, demands that I go to the ball with her because she needs to get back at Ron, and since I was a cold-hearted Slytherin I should be more than eager to help her, and she would even help me with my Potions, because she couldn't help but notice my horrible track record in Potions.

"So of course I agreed, but what I failed to mention was that the only reason I always had that slime-ball of a teacher nagging on me was because I wasn't paying adequate attention to my work, and was spending most of my time trying to capture glances of the bushy-haired Gryffindor one table down from me."

She blushes furiously, and your heart skips a beat because it's just so _adorable_.

"The ball itself was uneventful. Hagrid got way too tipsy and almost mowed over innocent students, Filch was constantly complaining about how much of a mess us ungrateful little brats were making, and I ended up in a broom closet with my date just so I could avoid my drunken ex finding me.

"Well… the broom closet wasn't _that_ uneventful."

"Oh?"

"We somehow ended up kissing. And then you smacked me and stormed out."

"What happened after that?"

"I asked you out the next day while you were 'helping' me with Potions. You said yes."

She's quiet, her face taking on it's usual expression when she's digesting a large amount of information.

"I wish I could remember," she says finally.

"I know, baby, I know." You pull her in even closer, no longer worrying about the tears you don't want her to see, because after more than a month of the same event happening, it takes a lot more for the tears to show up.

"I can't remember any of this." But now she's crying, and it's that, her breakdown, that brings forth your own tears.

"I hate not remembering any of this. I hate that people come over and I don't know them, but they know me. I hate forgetting where I put something and I hate putting you through this. I hate that I know that I love you but I can't remember why I do, and I hate that you have to remind me when you shouldn't have to."

Sobs rack her chest and she shakes from within your embrace. You feel your shirt grow wet with her hot tears and grow tighter as she clenches the loose fabric with her fists, and words escape you even though you've gone through this so many times before. You can only rub her back in slow circles and murmur reassurances that she doesn't seem to hear.

"I hate that I can't remember anything, but somehow I still know that I love you and I just know that we were so happy together. I hate that I'm stopping you from living your life because I know you deserve so much more."

That's a new one. It catches you off-guard, and you jumble your words together as a million thoughts race around your head at once.

"What? No, baby, that's not true, that's not true at all. I love you, I love you so much and I don't deserve you, I never did. I'm so lucky, so, so lucky that you chose me, and I'm so lucky that I get to-"

You choke on your next words. How could you have forgotten about that? The days have been too long, too hard, you've forgotten about the wedding that will never take place.

How could you? How could you, when it was that night, that night that was so magical and so horrible that can't forget about it. That night when she brought you back to that light pole in Hogsmeade, where five years ago you two spent twenty-minutes arguing about whether to go to Honeyduke's or Rosemerta's.

That night when right after the Apparition, she pulled out the ring that hasn't left your finger since.

That night when she promised to love you forever, even though you were the only person that would never let her win an argument without a stubborn fight.

That night when you returned the promise, even though it was her abrasive know-it-all-syndrome that started the arguments in the first place.

That night when that rogue Death Eater had chosen to try and attack you both and she lashed out faster than you, aiming a jinx at the Death Eater that was never sent because he hit her first, instantly sending her into a coma.

That night when the Aurors arrived just a second to late and the bastard escaped, taking your girlfriend's, no, now your fiancé's, memories with him.

That night when that room in St. Mungo's was all but empty, save for you and her and no one else.

That night when the Healers told you that the curse was powerful Dark Magic, and her memory would never be the same. There was nothing they could do but wait.

That night when you held her hand as she lay in the hospital bed and had no choice but to wait.

And wait.

And wait.

But she wasn't getting better.

And neither were you.

"I'm so sorry," you cry into her shoulder. "I'm so, so sorry."

And the apartment was empty, the streets were quiet, and the only noises were coming from the embraced couple on the couch; just you and her and no one else.


	2. Part II

It started three days after her release from St. Mungo's.

Even though the Healers were insistent in their diagnosis that her memory would be forever irreparable, you still had that one small shred of belief that maybe, just maybe, they were wrong.

After she came out of the coma, she didn't talk much. You could see the exhaustion in her eyes that far exceeded your own. She was just so tired that it made _you_ hurt. She would wake up at least once a day, faintly smile at you, but fall asleep soon after that.

When she was finally released, able to physically function on her own, you began to notice.

It started off small, misplacing objects, forgetting why she came into a room. You could tell it frustrated her, but at the same time, she was too tired to care. But life was reasonably normal, enough for you to slowly grow comfortable again.

But then it got worse, and much too quickly.

"Hermione!"

Brittany practically skipped across the room to envelope her in an embrace. "I'm so happy to see you again! San and I came up as soon as we could and the plane ride was so much fun, especially since our flight attendant had a British accent and San kept calling her over to make her talk to us because she knows how much I like those accents-"

But as Brittany kept talking, Hermione was slowly pushing her away, her eyes wary. "I'm sorry, but… I don't know you…"

"What?" Brittany faltered for a moment, looking confused and disbelieving. "Of course you know me!"

She slowly shaked her head. "I don't… I'm sorry…"

Brittany frowned. "But… but you're the one who helped me pass my Muggle college math class, remember? And San and I used come over here every Saturday to watch movies with you and Quinn! We used to bring Lord Tubbington over too, but you didn't like the fur everywhere so-"

"Britt…" San whispered, pulling the blonde back, "I need to tell you something, come over here…"

"But San, what's going on? Hermione…"

"Just c'mon, babe, I'll explain it all…"

And you don't know what hurts more, your best friend's face, full of utter disbelief and fright, or your Hermione, completely terrified and looking at you with such confusion and pain. And you look over at your other best friend in the corner as she tries to explain to Brittany why one of her closest friends no longer recognizes her.

You convince yourself that it's just a small side-effect of the accident, and soon everything will be back to normal. You convince yourself that this is only temporary.

"Bloody hell!"

The swearing has grown worse over the next few weeks; for the both of you. But whereas it was usual for you to mutter a curse or two when frustrated, you rarely heard her swear until now. Now, it was much more common.

"'Mione?" You call out into the next room, apprehensively placing down the book you were trying to read. "'Mione, what's wrong?"

"…Nothing. Nothing, I'm fine. Just made a clumsy mistake."

But the long pause before her response worries you, and you make your way into the kitchen, to be greeted with the sight of blood running down the kitchen counter, and your Hermione clutching her reddened wrist with a furious blush on her face.

"It's… it's just a flesh wound…" she starts, but you're already back in your HBIC-mode, the routine you're used to from your days as head cheerleader in high school.

"What happened?" Your surprised at your own voice, how calm and level-headed you sound, even though you know you should be freaking out, because this is _your__Hermione_ and _she__'__s__bleeding_ quite profusely and blood is _all__over_.

"Quinn, I'm fine!" Her voice snaps, and with a few quick flicks of her wand with her good wrist, the blood is Vanished and her injured wrist has stopped bleeding. "I just wasn't paying enough attention to where I was cutting, okay?"

"I'm sorry for being worried about you, okay?" There it is again; the calm façade that's taken over, when you're in reality torn between snapping back at her, and just wrapping her up in your arms and never letting her go and protecting her from everything.

Your calm demeanor obviously sets her off; she shifts uncomfortably in her place before lowering her head and murmuring an apology. "…just don't understand what happened…" you make out faintly.

"It's okay, 'Mione. Mistakes happen. You're only human."

_But__you__'__re__so__much__more._You can't help but think. _You__'__re__my__reason__for__living._

She scowls. "I don't make mistakes."

You just decide to let the argument go. After all, it's been a long day.

The Healers had warned you, during the first few days of the coma, that this would happen. _But__they__have__to__say__that._ You said to yourself. _They__have__to__say__that__as__a__general__disclaimer.__It__will__never__really__happen._

But it does.

The party was going along just fine. You only had to remind Hermione twice of who certain guests were, and everyone had the grace not to talk about the incident. Even Brittany was holding conversation with Hermione as if that last, ill-fated meeting between them didn't end in heartbreak.

It's during desert when something inside her mind snaps. You notice her tense up beside you, and as you look up to inquire what's wrong you're shocked to see how pale her face has suddenly become. She stares at everyone around the table, confusion plainly evident on her face.

"'Mione, sweetie…" You begin.

"Don't talk to me!" She practically jumps to her feet, her wand out and rapidly moving from person to person. "I don't know what you want from me, but if you don't let me go-"

"Hermione," you strain to remain calm, despite the panic and hurt that is quickly rising in your chest, "Hermione, please calm down. We're your friends-"

Before you can get any further, the curtains behind her catch on fire, and something explodes.

The Ministry officials arrived moments later, grim-faced and bearing a warrant ordering them to restrict Hermione's magic.

She refuses to watch the wand-breaking.

You receive a pamphlet on "wild magic", and the Auror gives you strict warning on "keeping her under control". "It's impossible to control, wild magic," he says, "but you can prevent another outburst like this from happening again. If you would just follow the guidelines outlined in the pamphlet-"

"I think I can handle my own wife, thanks," you all but bite back, wanting to get back to Hermione and wishing that this man would just shut up already.

"Don't underestimate wild magic," he warns, undeterred by your hostility. "Especially when the wielder is in such an unstable condition…"

He's forced out the door so quickly he doesn't have time to finish whatever half-brained "warning" he had for you.

The days grew tense after that. The blanks in memory were more and more frequent, and you fire-proofed more things in the house than you ever thought you would. Hermione was growing weaker and weaker, and so was her memory.

It was a rare moment, then, when you both were able to just lie in bed together, soaking up the other's presence. She stopped speaking earlier that day, after you realized how much it was straining her to exert enough energy to form words.

But even though neither of you are speaking, and her breaths sound so hoarse and painful, you treasure every moment with her, when you know that she knows who you are.

"I just love you so much, Hermione." You start, spurred by something you can't identity to suddenly bear your soul to her, "I know that's the only thing I've been saying the past few weeks but it's so true it hurts. I love you and I love that you love me and I love that we're together. You are the bravest, most intelligent, most caring person I know and it's because of you that I'm a better person. It's because of you that I'm able to wake up every day with a smile just because I know that I get to see you again. You brought me out of that miserable excuse of a life I was living and gave me something to live for. And I just love you; I love you so much, and you've saved my life, and before this ends I wanted you to know."

Something bearing the faintest traces of a smile crosses her lips. A tear slides down her face. Her breathing hitches again before resuming its already ragged pattern.

Eventually, you both fall asleep, your bodies intertwined, just as you have fallen asleep the past seven years of your lives together. Your nose lies against the top of her head and that unique _Hermione_ smell of lavender and parchment fills your mind as you sleep. And despite everything that's happening to your life, this just feels so _right_ and you wish you could spend the rest of your life like this and you don't want it to end but

You're the only one to wake up in the morning.


End file.
